File: Sherlock
by dalekchung
Summary: Mycroft Holmes is the government. Alex Rider is the government's best spy. And Sherlock Holmes? Well, he just can't stay out of trouble. One-shot.


**Disclaimer: Sherlock and Alex Rider do not belong to me.**

File: Sherlock

"Look," Mycroft Holmes was frustrated, though he was very careful not to show it outwardly, "I just need you to do me a small favor. I promise there won't be any complications."

A teenage boy sat across from him. His fair hair was in disarray, ruffled as if he had been previously running.

"I had a deal with MI6," the boy snarled, "and this is not part of it."

"Please, Alex," Mycroft was most definitely _not_ begging now, "It's a favor for a friend."

Alex, the teenage boy, sighed and leaned back in his chair. They were in a busy café, sitting at a small booth in the corner. Though Mycroft had chosen that location specifically for privacy, the boy still lowered his voice, "What kind of _friend_ calls a supposedly dead teenage boy, asking to meet while conveniently forgetting to use said boy's fake name and alerting the whole criminal community of said boy's existence? D'you know what I had to do to get here? Do you know how many times I was nearly shot just today?"

Mycroft folded his paper napkin neatly on top of his plate, " _Please._ It's only for a month.I'll get Jones to let you have a couple months of leave…"

Alex snorted, "You're going to have to do a lot better than that, Holmes."

"Thirty grand," Mycroft suggested instantly.

Alex rolled his eyes, "You should know that I don't want or need more money. Try again."

There was a small pause in the conversation, "I'll get you in any university you want."

Alex smirked, something that Mycroft had grown accustomed to, "Already graduated. Honestly, don't you do any research?"

"…The satisfaction of outsmarting Sherlock?" He was hesitant to say this, but his brother needed to be protected and this was the right man – boy – for the job.

Alex drummed his fingers on the surface of the table, thinking, "Fine. Deal."

Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief as the teenager stood.

"And I expect that thirty grand wired to my bank account tomorrow morning."

"Wait, _what?"_

But the boy was already gone.

FILE*SHERLOCK

"It's all rather fascinating, really," Alex heard a distinct male voice say right outside his flat, "though I don't expect you to understand."

"I understand just fine, thanks," someone replied, rather indignantly.

The door was pushed open roughly as Alex's targets – er, _points of interest –_ made their way in. He was sitting at the kitchen counter, sipping freshly made tea, inspecting a jar of eyeballs. The usual.

"Someone has been in here," the first man was still in the other room, rifling through some of his junk.

"Someone is _still_ here," the second man's voice was right behind Alex.

He spun around slowly on his chair, smirking at the second man. Dr. John Watson: former British Army Officer, served in Afghanistan before being shot in the left soldier. Otherwise known as Sherlock Holmes' roommate.

"'Ello!" Alex greeted cheerfully, "I'm Alex."

John looked confused. He glanced from the teenage boy to the consulting detective, who was now standing by his side, and back to the boy.

"And, erm, what are you doing here?" John asked, staring at the blonde boy.

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock studied Alex intently, "Mycroft sent him."

"Mycroft?"

Alex put his mug of tea down, "Yes, hello. I'm your nephew. You're Sherlock, right? _Uncle_ Sherlock?"

No one spoke for a long ten seconds.

"Mycroft has a _son?"_ Alex wanted to laugh at the bewildered doctor.

"Don't be an idiot," Sherlock snapped, "Mycroft has a cleft chin, which you don't. Cleft chins are a dominant trait, which means you're not his biological son. Of course, you could have gotten it from your mother, but who'd want to have sexual intercourse with Mycroft?"

Alex shrugged and turned back around to his tea, ignoring the last bit, "I got into some trouble with the government. He helped me out of it."

Sherlock was clearly not done. He stalked over to face the boy.

"Sherlock…" John warned, already knowing what the consulting detective was going to do. Alex steeled himself, looking directly into the detective's eyes.

"You're a schoolboy. Mycroft hates children, which means you're more mature than most. You're wearing brand name clothes, but it's been styled to look cheap – so tailored, meaning expensive. You're rich and have no parents to stop you from spending. You've got a class ring. American. You studied abroad for college – Ivy League. You're clearly injured. You've been favoring your right side. Rich, alone, smart, and injuries. Gang, am I right?"

" _Sherlock!"_ John hissed.

Alex had no problem keeping up with the quick speech. He was inwardly smirking. He'd been right in every single detail except the conclusion.

"Close enough," he acknowledged, sipping his tea. He stared pointedly at the refrigerator, "Is there any reason you have a severed head in your refrigerator?"

Sherlock was swift to answer that one, "Scientific experiment."

"You told me you were done with that!" John sounded annoyed, "You said you were going to put it back in the morgue."

"Ah, yes," the detective brushed past the former soldier, "It reacted to the bromobenzene – the eyes popped out."

"How does _that_ happen?" Alex watched Sherlock as he picked up his violin, "Dead bodies can't exactl-"

"Shut up," the man called over to him, "and stop thinking. It's annoying."

Alex raised his eyebrows at John. The doctor answered his unasked question, "He gets like that sometimes."

The teenager shrugged and turned back to the glass jar, filled with eyeballs.

"Do you mind if I stay here a bit?" He asked John over the screeching violin, "It's just that Mycroft isn't home often, and I've got nothing else to do."

 _Screeeech!_

"Sure," John smiled, taking a seat next to the blonde boy, "I'm not sure we were properly introduced. I'm John Watson…"

FILE*SHERLOCK

 _BAM. BAM._

Alex rolled his eyes from where he was sitting. It had been nearly a month since he had unofficially moved in, and he had gotten used to Sherlock's random, sporadic actions.

" _Bored!"_ Sherlock was evidently annoyed, but it was a common occurrence. Alex barely looked up.

"Alex," the teenager looked up to see the detective pacing about the room, waving his gun around, "I'm _bored!"_

"Watch the telly," Alex replied reaching over to snag a book on the table beside him. He offered it to Sherlock, "Read a book."

" _Bo-oring!"_ Sherlock snatched the book and threw it at the wall.

"Invite your brother over," Alex deadpanned, annoyed to see that the book had fallen apart, pages flying everywhere.

"No need," Sherlock put his gun on the table, then took the space on the sofa, "He's already coming."

Alex shrugged and returned to what he had previously doing: staring out the window.

"Bored!" Sherlock chanted, " _Bored. Bo-ored."_

"Gosh, you're like an immature child," Alex muttered under his breath as the man continued his chant.

Alex could hear footsteps. Sherlock seemed to hear it to and after another " _bo-ored",_ he fell silent.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," a voice Alex recognized all too well spoke as the door opened, "Sherlock."

"Mycroft," Sherlock replied somewhat disdainfully.

"Alex," Mycroft greeted the teen, who merely waved back lazily, "It's time."

The blonde teenager stared at the man, an expression of confusion on his face.

"To leave," Mycroft clarified, "Your work here is done, and they need you in Russia."

"Of course," Alex yawned, standing and stretching. He glanced around the flat wistfully, then proceeded to make his way out of the room. He paused at the doorway and turned to the two brothers, "Well Sherlock, it's been a pleasure knowing you. When you see John, tell him the same."

"What?" Sherlock was suddenly sitting up, alert and (not to be taken lightly) thoroughly puzzled.

"Oh, and," Alex was grinning now, backing up so that his heels rested on the first step, "Your deductions were wrong. I'm not part of a gang."

As he turned on his heel and walked away, he heard Mycroft say, "You're not bored now, are you?"

He wished that he could have seen Sherlock's expression after his announcement, but Alex liked to be devious. His exit was needed.

No doubt Mycroft would tell him later. After all, weren't they friends now?

 _Thirty grand…_ Alex mused, still grinning as he made his way down the street.

 _I'm an expensive friend._

* * *

 **A/N: Okay. My first crossover... Sorry if I butchered it...**

 **Tell me what you think!**

 **UPDATE 7/12/15: Thanks to Science Student (Guest) for your explanation/observation on the cleft chin thing! If you'd read any of my previous works, you'd probably know that I hate inaccuracies (plus, I'm not very good at making a genius sound like a genius, lol). I only tweaked it a bit, just because I'm actually _very_ lazy. Changing it into a more detailed version would have probably taken me a couple hours. I write pretty slowly, haha. Anyway, thank you very much for taking your time for such a detailed explanation! It makes me happy that you spent so much time on me! (*squeee*)**

 **-Alice x**


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